A gorgeous salmon filet ready for the oven.
My
resolve to focus on the Helen Corbitt project went all to hell today. The day
began with a brief trip to a medical laboratory for instructions on a test.
Then home to make tuna salad for a lunch guest. I had jammed in some work
before the 9:15 appointment, including checking corrections on the last pass of
Finding Irene proofs. Home again, with an hour between the tuna salad
and arrival of good friend Melinda for lunch, I wrote exactly one paragraph and
then did odds and ends.
Melinda
was as anxious as I was to watch the January 6 committee special hearing, so
while we munched on tuna, we stared at the TV screen. So much for catching up
with a friend I haven’t seen for six months. But we were both mesmerized, and
she more reactive than I. When something extraordinary would come out, Melinda
pumped her fist in the air and yelled, “Yes.” At one point, when it was
revealed that trump wanted the magnetometers removed even though they were detecting
scary arms among the protestors, Melinda said, “He’s toast.” I hope she’s right.
I did
find the proceedings riveting and Cassy Hutchinson one of the most admirable
young persons I’ve seen in many a year. I applaud her bravery, even in the face
of death threats. And I am, like many Americans, appalled at the things that
came out—like the former guy throwing a plate of food against the wall or attempting
to strangle a security aide who wouldn’t follow his wishes. There’s been some
fallout, but I am anxiously awaiting various news analyses to, I hope, confirm
my reaction to today’s explosive revelations.
While
watching the hearing, I was also trying to watch the memorial service for Bob
Lyon, father of my friend Sue Springfield. Bob was a Canadian law enforcement
officer, serving with the Provincial Police for over thirty-four years. He was
also a genial man who enjoyed a glass of wine and loved to tell a good story. I
thoroughly enjoyed his annual visits stateside, and I will miss knowing he is
not among us.
Somehow,
I snuck in a nap in mid-afternoon and then was up and ready when our regular
Tuesday night happy hour neighbors arrived at five o’clock. Talk ranged from what
children were doing to real estate and preparations for moving out of an older
home, long loved. Then about six, my niece Jennifer arrived.
I
haven’t seen Jenn, I don’t think, in over a year. She is a busy single mother
of two daughters, fifteen and twelve—not quite driving and requiring a lot of
chauffeuring for their various activities. We had a lovely visit—caught up on
her, the girls, her dad (my brother), her stepmom—just sharing old times. I’m hopeful
that this is the beginning of a renewed relationship. I have told her all along
that I wanted her girls to know me, but her busy schedule didn’t allow for much
leeway.
We had
salmon for dinner—not unusual in this house. But the way I cooked it was
different. Slow roasted, which I never thought of. I rubbed a 1.5 lb. filet
with olive oil on the surface, skin side down, and then seasoned it with salt
and pepper, minced parsley, and assorted herbs from my garden. Cooked it at 250
for twenty-five minutes. Perfectly cooked. No need for lemon or anything else.
It was delicious. Christian made asparagus with Parmesan and smashed wee
potatoes—and I do mean wee--to go with it. A good dinner. I hope Jenn didn’t
get the idea that we eat that way every night.
Now it’s
nine o’clock—not late, but later than I want to do any extensive writing or
research, so I will probably read and prepare for what I hope will be a heavy workday
tomorrow. Even without rain these cooler days have been a blessing. May they
continue, although the weatherman tells us they will not.
Christian
tells me everything in the garden is in survival mode because of the heat and the
drought. I believe it because I too am in survival mode. Because of weather,
the January 6 committee revelations, the ongoing outrageous decisions spewing
out of SCOTUS. Some days, it’s hard to keep the faith, but I am trying. You try
too, please.
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